


As easy as one-two-three

by TheWolvenStorm



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 15:54:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWolvenStorm/pseuds/TheWolvenStorm
Summary: For the Tumblr Drabble Challenge





	As easy as one-two-three

**Author's Note:**

> Saw Everyone else was posting theirs on Ao3. Sorry if its Spam. 
> 
> Prompt: “ ~~Wanna dance?~~ Dance with me? ”  & “Teach me how ~~to play~~?”

Why is this so fucking hard?

“And one-two-three… one-two-three…one-two-three”

He tries to keep his head up as Sansa counts out the steps. Tries to keep his eyes off his own feet. And tries to keep his feet off his sister’s toes.

And fails.

She lets out a small hiss through her teeth as he lands on them again.

“Sorry.” the apology sounds hollow. Especially after he’s needed to repeat it several dozen times this afternoon.

“It’s fine, Jon. Just keep going” Her patience is wearing thin. He can’t blame her. Its been hours.

“One-two-three and one-two-three and…” he’s lost the little rhythm he had gained and needs to reset at the start again. “Don’t get discouraged…” she says quietly. “…You’re improving.” That last part comes out too sweet and saccharine. Lie. A kind lie. But a lie. She smiles and holds out her arms to start again. He only makes it to the first spin before he fucks up.

“He won’t learn like that.” Arya leans against the door frame, shaking her head in disapproval. “You’re speaking society to him. You have to talk like a soldier.”

Sansa reaches the end of her patience.

“Then you try!” she huffs.

“M’ Tryin’ my best” he sighs as Arya marches up taking Sansa’s place. 

“-Stand up straight!” she barks, snatching his hand and placing it on her waist. “You’re getting married tomorrow. Feet Together. You’re aggressing, I’m retreating. Now Left Foot Forward!”

It works. Sort of. Not really. It’s boxy and awkward. The movements edgy and stiff. He’s gonna make a fool of himself in front of the whole fucking country. In front of his men. In front of Dany…

He slumps against the door to their quarters, digging his fingers into his hair.

“What are you brooding over now?” she laughs, seated at the small vanity. Running a brush through her long silver hair. Her violet eyes watching him through the mirror.

“Nothin’ too serious” he pulls off his cloak and moves to stand behind her. Pressing a kiss into her hair, running his fingers through it. “Just dreading lookin’ like a fool in front of my wife…” At the word ‘wife’ her face splits into the brightest smile.

Gods. Her smile. It melts him. Every time. 

“And what foolish thing will you be doing?”

It can’t be that hard. It can’t be as hard as his sisters made out it to be. It can’t be as hard as he’s making it out to be. He’s fought monsters. Fought Armies. Dancing with his wife…

“Dance with me, love?” he offers her his hand.

…That’s easy.

“I never learned any Westerosi dances…” The confession tumbles from her lips as she stares at his hand. Cautiously licking her lips. Violet eyes suddenly shaded with something anxious. “… Teach me how?”

“Aye, Love.”

She laughs when he spins her.

It’s not hard at all. Not when its her. Not when his hands wrap around her waist. Not when her arms creep around her neck. Not when she leans against him and their clumsy steps devolve into a gentle rocking back and forth. Not when her warmth sinks into him and the whole world falls away. 

It’s not hard at all.


End file.
